


Finding The Right Person, Playing The Role

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Idiots in Love, M/M, Service Top, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: Otacon doesn't get it. Snake doesn't know how to ask for it. They have a pretty good time anyway.
Relationships: Otacon/Solid Snake
Comments: 7
Kudos: 111
Collections: Snake x Otacon





	Finding The Right Person, Playing The Role

1.

The mattress creaked when Snake plopped himself down on the edge of the bed. Fresh out of the shower, he was clean and relaxed, but he'd just noticed a hangnail on his right hand, and whenever he and Otacon secured a modicum of safety and privacy, he made minor, trivial annoyances the center of his world out of habit. He picked at it for a little while, sliding his thumbnail under it and pushing it away from the quick before bringing his finger to his mouth and pinching the stray sliver of keratin between his upper and lower incisors. He managed to bite off most of it, but a stump of the hangnail remained.

He sighed, and considered moving on to another task, but then decided to take the opportunity to just sit there, eyes closed, breathing musty motel air, listening to the hiss of the shower while Otacon took his turn. After half a minute, he heard Otacon sing a little bit, a sign that he was in good spirits. The song was in Japanese – Otacon could not speak Japanese properly, but he had memorized several anime theme songs phonetically, which Snake found charmingly silly.

When the bathroom door clicked, Snake looked up expectantly. A cloud of steam preceded Otacon as he stepped out, a towel tucked tight around his waist. Snake looked him up and down. He was pleased that Otacon had lost a little of his modesty lately. In the earliest days, he'd kept himself to himself very consciously; Snake, who was used to barracks life, had found it weird. But Otacon had loosened up in the last few weeks – specifically, since they had started sharing beds and jerking each other off once in a while. It had just sort of started happening, and they didn't talk about it, but now Otacon was letting Snake see him in a towel, so something was changing, and Snake liked it, even if he kept his feelings about it to himself.

There was nothing about Otacon's body that ought to encourage Snake to leer, nothing remarkable about it, except that it was his. What Snake felt when he looked at Otacon wasn't simply lust; it gave him some other kind of good feeling that he couldn't quite articulate, even to himself. He wondered if enjoying the sight of someone even if they weren't conventionally attractive meant that he had a crush, or that he was in...he didn't like to think about it. _Those_ kinds of feelings were dangerous. He and Otacon _trusted_ each other, that was what was vital right now. The other feelings were unimportant.

But as long as Otacon was in front of him – fishing around in one of his backpacks for his toothbrush and comb – Snake looked his fill at his partner's non-existent muscles and pale skin, at the little constellation of moles across his left side down to his hip, at his mop of silver hair, still damp after being dried roughly with the coarse motel towels. When Otacon straightened up, he turned the thermostat up a notch, then looked at Snake looking at him, and covered his smile with his hand. Then he seemed to reconsider his bashfulness, and turned to face Snake, his hip cocked, his free hand holding the towel around his waist but teasing like he was going to release it. He quickly blushed again, embarrassed at his own brazenness. Snake let his mouth fall open slightly.

“You got any nail clippers?” he asked, holding up the hand with the offending hangnail.

Otacon stood stunned for an instant at this non-sequitur, then his expression flattened and he turned and walked over to the sink, wetting his toothbrush under the tap. “In my backpack. The little pocket in the front.”

Snake hadn't meant Otacon to think he didn't appreciate the flirtatiousness. He'd thought he was being funny. Oh well. He knelt down on the floor between the bed and the wall, where Otacon had just been. There were two backpacks, each already opened up and overflowing with a mix of toiletries, the clothes they had just brought back from the laundromat, and computer cables. The front pocket of the first backpack was already unzipped. Snake opened it, but all he found inside was a stash of thumb drives.

“I don't see it here,” he said.

“I probably just threw them in there somewhere like an idiot. They're in there, though.”

Snake opened the main compartment of the backpack wide and pushed aside several t-shirts to dig around on the bottom. His hand found something firm and cylindrical, and out of curiosity, he pulled it free of the jumble, just as Otacon whirled from the sink and said, “Wait, which backpack are you looking in— _oh God_.”

Snake held in his hand a remarkable facsimile of a penis, glossy and black. At one end was a gently sloping glans, at the other, a wide, flat base, and across the column in between, a subtle network of realistic veins.

“I can explain,” Otacon blurted, as if an explanation was in order. He got red as a beet, all the way down his neck to is chest. “You weren't supposed to see that. I haven't actually used it. I just—”

“Calm down, it's just a dildo.” Snake dropped it back into the backpack, then said, “You gonna help me find the nail clippers or what?”

Otacon crouched down and unzipped the front pocket of his other backpack. He was breathing like he was about to cry, but he immediately located the item in question, and handed it over to Snake. Snake stayed kneeling while he clipped away his hangnail, then dropped the clippers back in the pocket and zipped it shut.

There probably wasn't anything Otacon could do at that point except finish brushing his teeth, and Snake watched him do that, then reclined on the bed, able to relax now that his hangnail had been taken care of. He looked at the clock, unsure if he wanted to watch television or sleep.

Otacon finished up in the bathroom, stripped away his towel, but after getting into bed, turned away from Snake, acting like he was just going to fall asleep, like nothing had happened, or at least nothing that he wanted to talk about. Snake knew better than that. Otacon suffered from terminal anxiety at the best of times, and he'd just been humiliated. Snake felt bad about that, but he also didn't think there was that much to be embarrassed about. In any event, Otacon was fooling nobody, pretending that he wasn't wide-awake with a flood of adrenaline. Snake turned out the bedside lamp. A little table lamp on the other side of the room still cast a dim yellow glow, but he was too lazy to get up and switch it off. He curled up behind Otacon above the covers, and while he felt no protest, he also received no welcome. He wrapped one arm around Otacon's ribs, and nuzzled the nape of his neck. “Hey,” he said.

Otacon did not respond. His body was stiff as a board.

“C'mon, don't be that way.” Snake snuck his hand under the covers, to stroke Otacon's bare skin. Otacon yelped, “Your hand is cold!”

Snake laughed a little. “Yeah, why do you think I put it under there? I gotta warm it up.”

Otacon's dramatic grunt of annoyance was actually a sign that he was loosening up – he only did that when things weren't too serious.

“Now let's see, where's the warmest place under here...” Snake's hand darted playfully around, tickling Otacon's belly and thighs. Otacon giggled, so Snake's hand settled on his soft prick. “Mm, here we go.”

Otacon allowed all this, but stubbornly did not move or speak. Snake whispered against his neck. “Why don't you tell me a little more about your toy, hm? Why did you buy it if you don't use it?” He still got no response, so he tried a technique that never failed to work on know-it-alls: he made a very wrong guess. “Is it like a psych weapon against people who want to snoop through your stuff?”

“I bought it when we were in Anchorage,” Otacon said softly. “You remember when we started, like, messing around?”

Snake hummed against Otacon's shoulder. “Hmm, yeah I do.”

“I started feeling...I don't know. I was just horny I guess, and too shy to ask if you wanted to do anything more than what we were doing. I went into a shop, and I bought it. It was stupid, because when would I ever be alone long enough to...? I guess I thought maybe I could use it in the shower or something. But I never...it never seemed to be the right time.”

Snake was flattered and deeply excited by Otacon's confession of lust, but this excitement was tempered somewhat by the specifics of the whole revelation. He didn't mean to start prying into stuff that might not be his business, but he had to know where things stood, so he asked, “You, uh...you ever had anything inside you before?”

Otacon cleared his throat. “Not really, but I always wanted to. I'm sure it would be amazing. I just never found the right person. Until you, I think.”

Snake knew it was stupid of him to feel disappointment at this of all confessions. But it was not disappointment in Otacon, rather in himself. Their professional partnership was stellar, perfectly complementary, and Snake realized now that what he also wanted more than anything was to be the perfect partner in the other sense. He wanted to be the best lover Otacon could imagine – but the truth was, he wasn't real crazy about playing _that_ role, that is, being a top. He and Otacon had not discussed these things, had not come close to doing so, those nights when they were giving each other furtive handjobs under the covers in the various motels, cabins, and vans they spent their nights in. He knew they probably should have, but it just never seemed like the right time to bring it up.

Really, the thing he didn't want to acknowledge was that it was not the right time to be getting involved with anyone in any way at all, certainly not the way they were getting involved with each other. But they had gone ahead and done it anyway, and since they'd started, Snake had allowed himself to entertain the hope that eventually Otacon would want to fuck him. It was so rare that he felt he could trust anyone in any capacity, but he knew he could trust Otacon with his body like that. But he hadn't realized how _badly_ he wanted it until just now, finding out that Otacon also preferred to be penetrated.

But Snake understood that whether this was going to be an impasse or not was entirely up to him. He could keep Otacon if he was willing to give him what he wanted – and he was more than willing. Frankly, he didn't know how to disappoint someone he cared about; he believe he had to give his all to this task, as he did with every task, every day of his life. Wasn't it his honor to have this duty? One of...hell, he should just admit it, one of _love_ , and not death?

“I think I have an idea about when might be a good time to use it,” Snake said.

Otacon didn't seem to get what he was hinting at. “When?”

“Right now.”

“Oh no, I couldn't.” Otacon squirmed in Snake's grip. “Not with you right here. That would be weird.”

Snake chuckled. “I mean, let me use it on you. Let me make you feel good with it.”

“Oh, _geez_.” Otacon buried his face in the pillow. “You don't have to do that, what we do already is enough, really. I shouldn't have said anything.”

For a genius, Otacon could sure be an idiot sometimes. “I _want_ to,” Snake insisted.

Otacon fidgeted for a while. Snake stayed quiet and let him work it out. Finally, Otacon said, “Maybe just a little.”

_Just a little. Sure, okay_. Snake patted Otacon's hip. “You wanna go get it?”

Otacon slipped out of Snake's grasp and rolled off the bed, digging around in his backpack first for the toy, then for a second item, a little squeeze bottle. Snake took the opportunity to pull aside the shabby floral bedspread, and when Otacon laid back down, Snake got right on top of him, between his legs.

“Oh!” At first, Otacon seemed to appreciate the weight and warmth of Snake's body, and dropped what he was carrying to embrace him. But then Snake used his knees to spread Otacon's thighs wide, and Otacon squealed, “Hey!” and let go to try to cover himself a little. Though Snake felt a pang of sympathy – this was a man who was too shy to flirt a few minutes ago, and now Snake was spreading him open – he knew they weren't going to get anywhere if he let Otacon stay afraid of what he wanted.

“Come on now, you want someone to put that thing in you, you're gonna have to let them look at where they're gonna put it,” he said, teasing the insides of Otacon's thighs to soften his reticence, working his way inwards, to where things were warm and very sensitive.

Otacon covered his face with his hands and groaned, though he ceased his protesting. His thighs remained tense, but he stopped trying to close them. Snake just needed Otacon to trust him. Otacon deserved someone who knew how all this ought to be done, and his plan was simply to do and say the things he wished would be done to him, and said to him. He continued to stroke Otacon's thighs as he spread them just a little more, so he could caress and admire his cock and balls, his nice pink hole. Otacon was panting with nervousness.

“Shh,” Snake said, as he explored with his fingers, “you've got nothing to be ashamed of.”

Otacon continued to whimper. Snake said, “Hand me that lube, will you?” He could have reached it himself, but Otacon really needed something to do right now. Snake took the proffered bottle and squeezed some lube onto his fingers.

He went gently, trying to be firm as well, but Otacon was shaking, and his body was not giving in easily to the touch of Snake's fingers. Snake managed to get one inside, but it did not seem to be changing Otacon's attitude. Snake said, “You sure this is what you want? Is there something I can do to make it easier?”

Otacon whined, and pulled a pillow over his face to hide his embarrassment, but then peeked out from under it and said, “...Maybe if you kiss me?”

They hadn't kissed yet. Snake had never thought of kissing as a big deal, not until just that moment. But it being a big deal didn't mean he wasn't ready to do it. He leaned forward, grabbed the pillow, and pulled it out of Otacon's hands so he could place a chaste, dry kiss on his mouth. Otacon responded immediately, kissing back with the ferocity that came with nervous energy that had found a productive channel. Suddenly everything was wet and hot, with Otacon panting into his mouth, his body heaving instead of shaking. Snake could feel the reluctant muscles around his finger begin to relax, and then contract rhythmically. He broke the kiss only long enough to refresh the lube and get a second finger in. It was easy going now, though a bit of a stretch to keep his mouth on Otacon's and fingers inside him as well. He wouldn't be able to get deep enough to touch him where it really counted, but that was alright, Otacon seemed content for now.

Snake's wish that their positions were reversed lingered in the back of his mind, but he could not deny that seeing Otacon fully accepting and enjoying what was going on was pretty compelling. Snake was patient, waiting to be asked, and he was not disappointed: Otacon, who minutes ago did not want Snake looking at his body, was soon begging to have the toy put inside him.

Snake repositioned himself squarely between Otacon's thighs once more. Now Otacon was not hiding his face, but looking at what Snake was doing. When Snake caught him gawping, they accidentally made eye contact, and had to stop for a moment to break down in laughter together. Everything was so serious all the time: the work they were doing, the danger they were in, even the sex they'd been having (such as it was). For all that it felt good, and made them feel safe for a few minutes, they did what they did with no mirth. But the fact was, sex was ridiculous. It was supposed to be silly and fun. The noises Otacon made were adorable, and when the dildo slipped right out of Snake's hand because it was so slick with lube, it was hilarious. “Okay, okay, I can do this,” Snake said, wheezing like an actor who'd gotten the giggles, trying to calm down to do another take.

Only when he'd gotten the blunt tip of the toy against Otacon's rim did the laughter die down. It was hard to laugh and moan at the same time, and Otacon was making that choice now, his full-throated cry jarring but delightful after their prolonged fit of laughter. As Snake worked the toy deeper inside him, Otacon's clear, high moans grew deeper and rough, until he sounded like a wild animal. Snake's patient work had paid off; Otacon was clearly enjoying everything that was happening inside him immensely. Snake couldn't help but feel a little envious.

That was when Snake got an idea. He didn't need to be holding onto the thing. It had a wide base, it was safe for him to let go, and then he could just climb on top of Otacon, and sit right on his cock and ride him. He couldn't imagine Otacon having any objection to that.

Snake's free hand went to the button of his jeans, undoing it, when Otacon said, “Um, you know what I think would feel even better, is um...if it was you who was doing this to me.”

Snake shook his head a little in confusion. “I _am_ doing it to you.”

“No, I mean _you_.” Otacon reached for the distinct ridge just below where Snake's hand was, caressing his hard cock through his jeans.

Well, damn.

But nothing would be gained by considering this a lamentable fate. Snake let go of the toy and swiftly finished unzipping his jeans, sitting back to slide them off, pulling his shirt up and over his head and discarding it with the same speed.

Even if it wasn't his preference, Snake had done this before, just a couple times, but enough that he felt confident guiding Otacon through it. Perhaps it was not the most normal thing to see this as a task to carry out, but he had always done best when foregoing his own desires in order to take on an assignment. And as far as assignments went, this was the most desirable he'd ever known.

He drizzled lube over his cock, and got himself right up against Otacon, his knees under Otacon's quaking thighs. It seemed only natural to hoist Otacon's legs and rest them on his shoulders, so he did that. With this much of Otacon's body against him, he could feel every tense twitch, every heartbeat. But this was going to be easy, the toy had made it that way for him, so he decided he was just going to draw it out for his own entertainment, make Otacon squirm as his anticipation turned to frustration with the lush slowness of it.

Otacon did not disappoint. He was so beautiful in his pleasure, Snake forgot everything else. All he wanted to do now was satisfy this man that he cared so much about. He knew he was an idiot for not being able to say out loud how he felt about Otacon, how important he was, how much he wanted to make Otacon happy, to cover his bad memories up with their new life together. But he was determined now to perform this service, in the hopes that by it, his devotion would be made apparent. If this was a task, rather than an indulgence, then he wished that every task could be rewarded so richly as seeing Otacon forget to be bashful any longer and submit unashamedly to the throes of sexual ecstasy. He wished to always feel so powerful when submitting utterly to the person dictating his actions.

Nevertheless, watching Otacon come – a thick streak of semen spurting across his belly without his ever having to touch his cock – made Snake just a little melancholy. If he had hope before, of their positions ever being reversed, it evaporated then, because he could not imagine anyone who could come just from being penetrated ever wanting to top. Oh well. His problem ought to be the envy of any man. Exhausted and oversensitive, Otacon pleaded with Snake to finish inside him, and Snake found it no hardship at all. Being received so eagerly was irresistibly pleasurable, and the squeeze of Otacon's muscles around him effortlessly drew a stunning, tender climax from him.

The first thing Snake noticed as he returned to his senses was that the smell of sex now overwhelmed the musty smell of the motel room. Snake took Otacon's glassy stare and whimpering breaths as a compliment, but he knew that if Otacon came down from his oxytocin high in this state, splayed and covered in spunk, he would panic and be utterly mortified once again. Snake grabbed the discarded towel off the floor and tidied Otacon up as best he could, then tucked him in. He picked up the toy and cleaned it, and himself, in the sink, before darting back into the bed to snuggle up. Success: Otacon was sleepy and satisfied and eager to cuddle. Snake fell asleep in Otacon's arms, unable to remember the last time he felt so good.

2.

The following days saw a return to business as usual, the relative luxury of a brief rest in a cheap motel exchanged for a succession of designated meetup points, dead drops, mysterious contacts, and getaway vehicles. There was barely time for sleep, let alone leisurely affection, but since that night in the motel there was a new, unspoken understanding between them, about what was permitted, or desired. It began after a 16-hour drive, when Snake offered Otacon a back massage while they waited for a phone call, and was reinforced the following day, when Otacon gave Snake a brief, hesitant peck on the cheek before jumping out of the van to grab some questionable (but hot) food from a 7-Eleven. The thing between them, that had once been just a series of silent handjobs in the dark, was now a sweeter closeness, a quiet bond, an oasis in an otherwise tumultuous existence.

It was, however, a fairly chaste oasis. Too stressed and exhausted to try for a quick, frantic tryst just to take the edge off, they instead found solace in holding each other close whenever they could sleep side-by-side, their bodies a knot of limbs against the cold nights. Not that Snake didn't consider a frantic tryst or two during that time, but Otacon was too sweet for that kind of treatment. He deserved comfort and safety if he was going to make himself vulnerable like that for Snake. Even the idea of jerking him off in a sleeping bag now seemed ordinary, _dirty_ , less than Otacon deserved.

Snake gave every mission, every operation, his full attention, but the in-between times, the hours of non-stop driving, the waiting for a contact to show up, those were the times his mind tended to wander, where he broke from his habit of staying completely alert in the moment and allowed himself to think back to their night of unbelievable closeness and pleasure, and also ahead to the next possible opportunity for more of the same. Would their next chance to sleep be in a bed, instead of just reclining the seats in the van? Would they eat something off of plates, instead of out of styrofoam? Would the next opportunity to wash be under a showerhead, instead of a gas-station bathroom sink?

They had gotten just about fed up with the relentless and anxious hard work after a dead-end infiltration of the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, just outside Seattle: Snake got in and out without being detected, but there was no Metal Gear prototype in the facility, as they had been told, just blueprints, which Otacon easily snatched away from their database. That was when they got confirmation from Mei Ling: the intel about the shipyard had been their last lead, and they were to stand by for further instruction. There was an apartment waiting for them in a secluded town called Ravensdale, an hour's drive southeast.

Breaks like this never lasted long, but when they received this message together, Snake and Otacon breathed a huge, simultaneous sigh of relief. Then they looked at each other and laughed: each of them knew what was on the other's mind, and they were too happy to know that their anticipation was mutual to be embarrassed about their own eagerness.

When they pulled up to their designated hideout, a neglected midcentury-modern complex called the Capri, they saw a man hauling several brown paper bags up to a door on the second floor. When he saw their van, he stayed put. Snake had a suspicion about what his presence was about, but when he and Otacon got out, they ascended the stairs with caution.

Snake said, “Did you see, the mountain is out today.”

Thus prompted, the man gave the countersign: “I'm from Chicago. We built our own mountains out of steel.”

They all nodded at each other. This guy worked for Philanthropy, though to precisely what extent, he may not have been aware. Right now, he was just bringing groceries.

“Make sure you get all your stuff out of the van,” he said. “I'm supposed to take it, and leave you with the car I got here in. It's less conspicuous.” He gestured to the red Geo Storm parked behind the van.

Snake and Otacon went back for their bags while the Philanthropy operative brought the groceries in. They met once more at the door, where he handed them the keys. He gave them one more quick but friendly nod, then drove off in the van.

The apartment was furnished, but not made up. Snake had to search the cupboards for sheets to put on the bed and towels to put in the bathroom, while Otacon perused the groceries for something that would be easy to cook. Whenever their paths crossed while they settled in, like newlyweds on their wedding night, they looked at each other with fondness, but were too exhausted to leap into bed and do the thing they'd been aching with anticipation for. They showered, ate canned soup, and collapsed into sleep at two in the afternoon.

3.

When Snake woke up, it was after dark. He'd slept long enough that he was hungry again. He rolled off the bed without disturbing Otacon and went into the kitchen. There was milk, butter, and Kraft macaroni and cheese. Lacking anything else to occupy himself with, he watched television while the water boiled, then stood in the doorway to the kitchen, still half trying to pay attention, whenever he wasn't stirring the noodles. On the TV, several attractive people appeared to be stranded on a tropical island, and Snake wasn't sure right away if it was a drama series or reality programming.

Just before it was time to take the pot off the burner, Snake took another look in the fridge. Disappointed in what he saw, or didn't see, he grumbled to himself, “Who buys mac and cheese and doesn't buy hot dogs?” Moving beyond this setback, he split the contents of the pot into two bowls, then went into the bedroom. Otacon opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at him.

“I made macaroni and cheese,” Snake said. “You want some?”

Otacon rubbed his face. “Yeah.”

“You want to eat in front of the TV, or should I bring it in here?”

Inhaling deeply as he sat up, Otacon began to feel around for his glasses. “I'll come out.”

He had barely sat down on the sofa before he was flipping channels, trying to find something good, dismayed when he realized he'd made the full circuit in just seven clicks. “There's no cable?”

Snake handed Otacon his bowl of mac and cheese. “This is a hideout. We're lucky there's a radio.”

Otacon went around one more time and settled on PBS, which was showing a British program. A laugh track indicated that it was a comedy, but neither of them found the show particularly funny. “They used to show _good_ British shows on PBS, like _Monty Python_ and _Doctor Who_ ,” Otacon complained gently.

About the time they finished eating, the show was over and the credits rolled. After that was another episode of the same show. Otacon flicked the television off and sighed. “Life sucks,” he lamented.

Snake knew that he just meant the TV, but it squeezed his heart anyway. He watched Otacon scrape the last few noodles out of his bowl. His eyes were still sleepy behind his glasses, and his hair had dried poofy after his shower. All Snake wanted to do was protect this man.

“I'm sorry that things are the way they are,” he said. “I don't know what our lives would be like right now if we hadn't met, but I'd imagine yours would be a lot more comfortable.”

Otacon shook his head. “Don't apologize. What I'm doing now is the only way I can make up for what I was doing before. And it's the only way I can be with you. I'm happy to have this life.”

Snake looked down at their hands, each still holding their empty bowls. He took Otacon's, set both bowls aside, and suggested, “Maybe I could do a better job of making it up to you by taking you to bed.”

Otacon grinned suddenly, like he'd been waiting to hear this. “Oh, I'd like that.”

Snake stood up, then leaned over Otacon, shoved one arm under his knees, the other under his arm, and hoisted him up.

Otacon shrieked, then laughed. “I didn't realize you meant _literally_ taking me to bed!”

“Why not?” Snake carried Otacon effortlessly into the bedroom, tossing him onto the mattress and then diving in after him. Their eagerness made them clumsy, but they didn't care, they'd been waiting for this moment for weeks, and no awkwardness could dim their excitement. They rolled around on the bed for a while, kissing and tugging each other's clothes off, laughing when they failed at trying to do both at once. Snake had been thinking a lot lately, when things got boring, about how he was going to ask if maybe Otacon wanted to try fucking him this time, but he'd forgotten about it just now, until he was holding Otacon's dick in his hand. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get any words out, Otacon confessed, “I can't wait to feel you inside me again.”

Snake couldn't do anything else but smile. “I'll get the lube,” he said. “Where is it?”

“In that bag,” Otacon pointed at the chair next to the bed.

When Snake found the bottle of lube, he also pulled out Otacon's toy. “Oh, haha,” Otacon said, blushing. “I don't need _that_ anymore. I've got you.”

Snake knelt on the bed. Okay, it was now or never. Snake had to say something. Anything. So he said, “Actually, I was thinking maybe you could use it on me, and then uh, get on top of me and ride me.”

Otacon's eyebrows went up. “Oh wow, okay.”

That was all the enthusiasm Snake needed to hear. He laid back on the bed, trusting that he had taught Otacon sufficiently by example what to do and how to do it. He just wanted to treasure every moment he got to spend with his legs spread – even when he was just waiting expectantly for something to go in him, doing that alone felt good to him, made his chest feel tight and his belly warm. Otacon approached him with seriousness, and did not betray a hint of nerves or self-consciousness; the longer Snake had known him, the harder Otacon had worked to not get anxious when faced with a challenge. When things got real tough, Snake knew just how to talk him down, or up, whatever was necessary, but in this case, Otacon seemed ready to just get down to it.

That was when he decided he wanted to chat instead.

“I wouldn't have thought that you would be into something like this,” he remarked as he hovered over Snake, clearly admiring his body but not doing much more.

_You and everyone else_ , Snake thought. Of course no one would ever assume he wanted things in his ass – wasn't he a super-soldier, a paragon of inviolable masculinity? He grit his teeth to avoid making a snide remark about stereotypes; he wanted to be nice to Otacon. Finally, he just said, “Well, I do. I like it a lot.” Perhaps he should have made his tone more pleading, and less pedantic; it might have given Otacon a clue that he should...but it was fine, this was going to be good, just so long as it actually happened. He nudged Otacon along by picking up the lube and handing it to him.

Snake's attitude improved considerably when he felt the first brush of slippery fingers. He tilted his hips to better present himself, and Otacon came through for him, easing those fingers inside, feeling around until Snake got breathy, letting him know he was doing it right. Snake was teetering on the brink of fulfillment, he wanted so badly to beg for Otacon's dick, but he couldn't bring himself to do it – it wasn't what Otacon really wanted tonight. If it was, he would say something about it; Snake wanted to believe that. Maybe next time he would bring it up.

Instead, Snake asked for the toy, and it was so good, made him feel so full. It did not match the nearly-unbearable intimacy of having Otacon inside him, hot and pulsing, but it was nothing to scoff at, and maybe when Otacon was on top of him, he could squint, and pretend that Otacon was between his thighs instead of sitting on them, and that his bouncing was thrusting.

When Otacon did mount him, it caused the toy to shift around inside him, not so much like thrusting but definitely a lot like grinding. Snake barely even registered it when Otacon lowered himself, sheathing Snake's cock with his body, so preoccupied was he with the toy inside him, rubbing against his prostate.

He stared slack-jawed as Otacon's pale, skinny body, which dominated his field of vision, rocked smoothly back and forth, taut from head to toe. Combined with the uninhibited noises he was making, the amount of sensory information was dizzying to Snake, who could do nothing but lay back, his hands resting on Otacon's thighs, lacking the wherewithal even to grab his waist and guide him up and down. It was already too much.

Snake was overwhelmed, terrified of coming before Otacon; not that he couldn't finish Otacon off with his hand or mouth if it came to that, but he knew how different that felt, how inferior it was to being able to come with a hard cock pounding into you. He wanted to make sure he gave that to Otacon, so he tried to hurry things along for him by grabbing his cock and hastily stroking it. Otacon did not protest, but the noises he made told Snake that he was not necessarily ready to deal with the additional stimulation.

The hot feeling began to coil in Snake's belly, the threat of inevitability. “Please come,” he groaned, and Otacon demonstrated his talent for teamwork once more, uttering a final cry that bordered on panic as hot spunk shot out of his cock and landed on Snake's chest. Snake followed immediately, pumping Otacon hard while his prostate throbbed to the point of agony.

There followed a several minutes of hard breathing, each exhalation a grunt of disbelief at how intense things had just been. “I'm sorry it was kind of quick,” Snake said at last. “Next time we can go slower.”

“Don't apologize,” Otacon said, an echo of their earlier conversation. “I thought I was going to die, it was so much.”

Snake muttered, “C'mere,” and held out his arms. Otacon leaned forward, and Snake groaned, “Wait, first take that thing out of me, then c'mere.”

Otacon dismounted and saw to him carefully, easing the toy out slow. Snake whined at the weird, slick feeling. It pulled him from his haze of contentment, reminded him that he hadn't truly gotten what he wanted. He had come to feel that Otacon knew things about him without his ever having to articulate them, things no one else knew, things Snake had never told anyone. Why didn't Otacon know _this_? Even when the evidence had been in his hand, being guided into Snake's body. How could he not figure it out?

Then again, was it really Otacon's responsibility? He had said practically nothing about it, hadn't he?

But soon, he had Otacon in his arms, and he could not help but settle into a soft, rich satisfaction, one that was not centered in any particular, overstimulated part of his body.

“You're so good to me,” Otacon murmured. “Tomorrow morning I'm going to make you pancakes. There was pancake mix in the groceries.”

Snake hummed his assent, but Otacon must have interpreted his languor as a lack of enthusiasm, because he lifted his head and said, “Unless you don't want pancakes. What would you like? Anything you want, just tell me, and I'll do it for you.”

Snake smiled at this, and hugged Otacon closer to him. “I'm sure I'll think of something,” he said, “...but pancakes would be a good start.”

**Author's Note:**

> berlynn-wohl on Tumblr or berlynnwohl on Twitter for more of this sort of nonsense, including information about my writing projects that are not available on AO3 :)


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